Page 70 of The Botanist’s Improper Bride

He leaned back, visibly weary. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to break off the betrothal. I’ll meet with Lord Fitzgerald today to let him know about the change of plans.”

He made it sound as though he was doing her a kindness, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

She moved forward and sat, putting herself on his level. Pressing her palms together in front of her chest, she caught his eyes and tried to appeal to the kind, loving man she remembered from her childhood. “Please don’t do this. I’m begging you. Please reconsider.”

“Emerson is respected by society. He won’t give you the same status as an earl would, but the marriage isn’t a dreadful prospect.” With a tired sigh, he added, “We have to think of our reputations.”

“It is a dreadful prospect!” How did he not see that? “I can’t fathom being married to someone who would stoop to blackmail to secure a wife.”

He looked uncomfortable. “It isn’t blackmail, per se.”

She snorted. “Seems an awful lot like it to me.”

Resting his hand on the side of his face, he turned away from her. “I’m sorry, Seraphina. However well-intentioned I’m sure you were, you’ve made your bed, and now you have to lie in it.”

Sensing that he wasn’t about to change his mind, she got up and stormed from the room. She went immediately upstairs, hot tears welling in her eyes and scalding their way down her cheeks as they dripped to the floor.

She couldn’t stay here. Not with a man who cared so little for her that he would see her married to a blackmailer purely for the sake of preserving his reputation, and especially not if there was any chance that he might succeed in forcing her to the altar.

She grabbed the bag she kept her needlework in—rarely used though it was—and emptied the contents onto the bed. Next, she folded a clean shift and stockings, packed them into the bag, and added a comb, a purse, several pieces of jewelry—including a necklace inherited from her mother—and a morning dress.

Looking around, she couldn’t see anything else that she absolutely had to take with her. Clothing could be replaced. She wasn’t particularly attached to any of it anyway. She enjoyed fashion, but it wouldn’t break her heart to leave behind her favorite gown.

She slung the bag over her shoulder, hurried to her laboratory, and stopped in the doorway, a hollow ache in her chest. Rows of glassware and equipment lined the cabinets—the accumulation of years of work. The solutions she’d left to evaporate earlier sat untouched. If she fled, they would be disposed of, tossed aside like food waste rather than contributing to her growing knowledge base to help create a medicine that could aid hundreds of people.

Not only would she lose all the equipment she’d stashed away, but by leaving, she’d also give up access to the ingredients she used to produce quinine.

If she started over, it would be from scratch.

She blinked rapidly, her throat constricting, and forced herself to move forward, searching for the notebook that contained her process for creating quinine crystals and the experiments she’d undertaken thus far with willow bark.

At least she would have those records to bring with her. It was better than nothing. She didn’t delude herself into thinking that anything else would be left in place for her if she returned. As soon as her father had called on Trevor, he’d no doubt instruct the staff to dismantle her laboratory—and that was assuming he wasn’t furious enough to smash it himself.

As she slipped down the servants’ stairs, she paused outside the corridor that led to their private quarters, an awful realization dawning on her.

Her father might deduce that someone had to have been helping her keep her secrets, and if he did, Bessie was the obvious suspect.

She dropped her bag and fumbled inside for the purse, pulling it out and dividing the coins inside into two equal portions. She wasn’t sure if Bessie would be in her room but decided to check before venturing out of the servants’ area because she wanted to avoid encountering her father if possible.

Fortunately, when she knocked on Bessie’s bedroom door, it opened inward, and Bessie looked out at her, her brow scrunched with concern. “Is everything all right, miss?” she asked.

“No.” Seraphina was amazed that her voice didn’t break. “Mr. Emerson has told Father my secret, and I’ve been ordered to marry the dreadful man. I won’t marry him, so I must leave.”

Bessie’s eyes widened. “But where will you go?”

“I’m… not sure.” She thrust the pile of coins at Bessie. “It’s possible Father will realize you were involved. Maybe Mark, too, although that seems less likely. If he does, please use this to find somewhere to stay, and then go to Miss Carruthers’s home. I’ll speak with her about finding another position for you.”

As she spoke, all the color drained from Bessie’s face. “Th-thank you, miss.”

“No, thank you. I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you don’t pay the consequences for my actions. Can you warn Mark?”

“I’ll find him immediately.”

“I think that would be best.”

Bessie glanced down the empty corridor, then added quietly, “Good luck.”

Seraphina smiled as best she could and backed away from the door. As she turned, she palmed one of her remaining coins and allowed herself to think for just a moment about the scale of what she was about to do.